I’m talking to a young couple looking at an RV. The husband asks me if I RV, but I tell him that I can’t as I am working when there is good camping weather.

The husband asks me where I am going on holiday this winter and I say Austria. The cute little wife pipes up and says, “I have always wanted to go there and see the Koala bears!”

Both the husband and I look at her, dumbfounded.

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I own a large Pontiac which I trade for a Toyota thinking that I will get better gas mileage, but there is not much difference between the cars. So, I go to the salesman.

Me: “I’m not getting much better gas mileage with this new Toyota”

Salesman: “Well, there is a very good reason for that.”

Me: “Yeah? I keep a record of all my miles and gas at every fill-up.”

Salesman: “The problem is that the Toyota has a smaller gas tank than your Pontiac.”

Me: “I don’t mean miles per tank; I mean miles per gallon.”

Salesman: “Still, the Toyota has a smaller tank.”

Me: “Right.”

This happens when my daughters are very young — around seven and five. My husband and I just took a road trip from Winnipeg, Manitoba to see my parents in British Columbia.

During our trip home, we intend to stop for the night in Edmonton, Alberta, but we get a flat tire. Luckily, we are able to make it to a garage with no problems, but by the time the tire is replaced, it is late afternoon.

Husband: “The way I see it, we have two choices. We can keep driving to Edmonton, but we won’t get there until around 9:00 pm.”

Me: “Yuck. That would be okay if it was just you and me, but the girls will be exhausted and cranky.”

Husband: “Yeah, I agree. That leaves us with option #2: stop somewhere else. Jasper isn’t that far away.”

Me: “Huh. I’ve never been to Jasper. It’s a bit expensive, though, isn’t it?”

Husband: “So I’ve heard, but that’s our best bet.”

Me: “Option #2 it is. I’ll phone the hotel in Edmonton and cancel our reservation.”

So, we head for Jasper. We are a bit concerned that we won’t be able to find a place to stay, but after only a couple of tries, we find a nice hotel. It is indeed a bit more pricey than the Edmonton hotel would have been in, but not by much. Jasper itself is beautiful; it’s surrounded by mountains and the town is charming. We have a lovely dinner in a cozy restaurant, and then we turn in for the night, happy and comfortable.

The following day, I phone my parents to let them know how our drive home is going, and I tell them of our little adventure.

Dad: “What?! You stayed in Jasper?! Are you nuts? That’s a tourist trap! They charge you an arm and a leg! Why didn’t you drive to Edmonton?”

Me: “I told you, Dad. The kids would’ve been miserable, and so would we.”

Dad: “Oh, for Pete’s sake. They would have survived.”

Me: “Jasper wasn’t even that expensive, and we had a really nice time.”

Dad: *Sarcastically* “Well, good to know that you’re made of money.”

I gave up at that point. I should have remembered that when my parents and I took road trips when I was a kid, Dad was the “drive for as long as possible until your passengers are in tears from discomfort and boredom and then stay in the very cheapest motel you can find” type.

To this day, my family and I reminisce about that evening in Jasper. It was one of the highlights of our vacation.

I am an African Canadian working at a local full-service gas station chain. We only have a small office big enough for one employee and a couple of soft drink coolers, all located on the gas pump island. It is summer and gas prices are up so business is slow.

A couple of my friends have pulled their car up near the pumps but left room for customers and they are playing some reggae on the stereo.

While I am fueling up a customer, I see another approaching on foot: an extremely pale caucasian in his mid-twenties with a shaved head wearing torn shorts and a [Heavy Metal Band] T-Shirt. I try to get the attention of my friends to turn the music down but they don’t hear me.  

While I finish fueling the car, he gets some pop from the cooler and waits. I notice that he has started tapping his foot not impatiently but with our music.

Me: “You like this music?”

Customer: “H*** yeah, [Reggae Artist playing at the moment]! Hooah!”

He put his bag with his pop back in the cooler to keep it cold and hung around chilling with us for about ten minutes. I learned that day not to jump to conclusions about customers.

I work for a postal retail outlet. A young boy needs an adult to sign for a parcel, as is the rule. I politely ask if he has a guardian who can sign for him, and he comes back with a very irate grandmother.

Grandmother: “Excuse me. We are picking up the parcel and he is going to sign for it!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we can’t allow kids to sign for anything; you need to be eighteen or older.”

Grandmother: “There is no age when it comes to signing for parcels. I know this. Every post office knows this!”

Me: “That simply can’t be true; I was told you need to be of age by my training.”

Grandmother: “No, that’s not right at all. I know for a fact that any age can sign for a parcel.”

Me: “I’m telling you, ma’am, the post office told me directly that you need to be an adult to sign for a parcel and unless you sign for him, I can’t release it to him.”

Grandmother: “I’m telling you you’re wrong. I can’t believe this. You’re telling me he can’t get his own parcels?”

Me: “If it requires a signature, I am not allowed to let him sign for it himself; he needs a guardian’s signature.”

Grandmother: “Fine. I will be calling the post office about this. I will sign this time, but I will be complaining about this.”

She signs for the parcel, finally.

Me: “Thank you kindly. Have a great night.”

Grandmother: “Whatever.”

Gran stomped off in a huff with the parcel and child in tow after my polite retort to her attitude.